Integrated

According to the DSM-IV, the initial reactions associated with learning of the death of a loved one are called "acute grief response".  Acute grief is marked by intense feelings regarding the loss of someone close.

We all know what acute grief looks like.

Integrated grief is reaching a point when those intense feelings move into the background.  They no longer lead a person's perception of their life, but move into a position of being led by the person's life.

What does this mean?

It means that grief doesn't just go away.

The thoughts, feelings, and memories we have associated with the deceased person, don't go away, but instead become blended into the background of our perceptions, interpretations, and expectations of life from that point on.

When a person first reaches integrated grief, they realize it because they find themselves laughing.  I mean, really laughing.  They find themselves having peace.  Real, peace.

And this can be so startling, that it can make the person feel guilty or ashamed or worried that they are beginning to forget.  They fear that they are not being loyal or faithful to the memory of their loved one.  They worry that others will not take their grief as seriously if they can't keep it going.

My miscarried baby was born on April 19, 2011.  I was told that I wouldn't be able to tell when he was born, that I wouldn't be able to see him, that I should think I was only having a period.  I was told that I put too much pressure on my body and that is what caused my miscarriage.  I was told that it was a blessing that my baby died because I had my hands full with my other children, and having children too close together is the kind of mother who would drive her children off of a bridge.  I was told that I should be happy, because at least I wouldn't have a special needs kid.  I was told that I should find comfort that God spared my child from a cruel life here on earth, and that I should find comfort that God also spared me from having to mother another child.  I was told that "these things happen" and that God isn't in control over these things.  I was told that my baby is now my own personal guardian angel, and I was told that there is an infertile woman in heaven who gets to be a mother now.

None of these things are true.

As I worked through my grief, I had to discover for myself what the right answers were.

When I became pregnant again, I was told that my miscarried baby left my womb early to make room for this one, the one who will stay until the proper time.

Again, this is not true.

I have three older children, and not one of them "needed room" and therefore had a miscarried baby come before each of them.

I say these things, because it is important for each of us to have accountability in the things we say to others in their time of acute grief.  It is a fragile, extremely important time, when the things we feed that person are things that either sustain their grief....or sustain them through their grief.  You need to decide which one your words are sustaining.  It is not okay to just fill in empty spaces with opinions or things we think seem to sound nice.  What can seem nice, can be extremely damaging. 

But, I also say this, because even though I received so, so many messages about my loss, I wasn't held captive by them.  I wasn't trapped by the anger that rose in my throat at these responses.  I wasn't consumed by the startling horror of having to exert my own energy in giving other people the benefit of the doubt.  I was frustrated that the most well meaning, the dearest, the strongest in faith of my loved ones, were some of the ones who said the most bizarre things to me.  But I didn't resent their effort.  I appreciated their attention, and gave them grace for the foolishness that they sometimes gave.  I was irritated at often having to be the bigger person, but I was thankful for God's strength that I could be.

November 7, 2011 was my due date.  In one week, I could be holding a fresh, beautiful, lovely newborn baby.  I could marvel at the perfect design of the crevises of his ears, and the artwork of his wrinkly knuckles.  I could offer my breast to provide nourishment and fall in love with him as he took his first ever, tiny little suckles.  I could wrap him up tight in a warm, safe blanket and hold him close to my chest, and then undo the blanket just a little bit for one more glance at more of the amazing person who is my child.

Instead, I remember seeing him lay at the bottom of the ultrasound screen, motionless, only to bob gently against the pressure of the ultrasound machine.  I remember the doctor putting her hands on my shoulders and telling me that we needed to remove the debris.  I remember wanting to punch her in the face, but deciding to ask for prayer instead.

But, mostly, I remember other things.

I remember being just sure I was pregnant again. 

I remember buying the pregnancy test, and taking it because I couldn't wait to tell my in laws (whom I absolutely adore and I love making them some beautiful grandkids to spoil!).  The first test was negative, but I just knew I was pregnant anyway.

I remember taking the second one, and, thinking it would be clever to involve my husband this time, asking him to read me the results.

I remember waiting in the kitchen for what seemed like an hour as he tried to figure out if it counted when one line wasn't as dark as the other.

I remember the doctor appointment when I heard those sweet sounds of his heart beating.

I remember wondering if we were having a boy or a girl, and feeling very confident that we were having our fourth boy.

I remember, just like all of my other pregnancies, rubbing my flat tummy and marveling that God was at work, just a few layers down, actually knitting and weaving my baby together, and the sheer wonder that it wasn't even obvious to the whole world.

I remember when labor started, only three months later, and I remember the heartwrenching anguish of both hating that it was the end, and longing for my baby to be born.

I remember feeling such deep, profound guilt, but also the frustration of knowing that I really wasn't guilty.

I remember my pastor's wife coming to our house.  She prayed over us while I was in labor.  The baby was born only a few minutes later.

I remember when he was born.

I remember holding him in my hand, telling him that I was sorry, so so sorry.

I remember marvelling that so many of his features were so very perfect...his tiny little toes....each one.

I remember my husband, holding me as I spoke to my tiny dead child.

I remember seeing him, studying his tiny baby carefully.

I remember my husband crying.  It was the deepest I had ever fallen in love with him.

I remember my mother in law, seeming to show up out of nowhere.  She was just, there.  Ready, to love our family through the hardest time we'd ever faced.

There are so many, many memories I have.  So many lovely, special memories.

I have laughed since then.  I have laughed, a lot.

And, I am pregnant again.  I can already feel the first tiny stirrings of a new baby, telling me that "she" is very much alive and well, and I have plans and hopes and dreams for her.  I am excited to anticipate the remainder of this pregnancy, meeting her for the first time, and enjoying watching her grow.

November 7 is only a week away. 

I don't wish I could take it all back.  I don't wish I could have baby #4 instead of baby #5.  And so, I don't face this week, what would be the last week of my #4 pregnancy, with resentment, longing, or forlorn.

I face it with victory.  I miss my baby more than words can ever, ever express.  I do want him back.  But I wouldn't trade in my youngest baby for him.  I embrace the blessing in front of me, the blessing within me, and I simply accept that I grieve.  I don't wish to undo it. 

I know I will cry as I wake on November 7.  I will remember all of the memories I have of him, and I will wish that I could have had more.

But then, I will hear whimpering, crying, and fussing.  My older boys will be wrestling each other and someone will get hurt.  Someone will need to crawl up to my lap and get snuggled back to contentment in a way that only I can do.  Someone will need a sippy cup filled or a peanut butter and jelly made for them.  And, someone will flutter in my tummy.  I will remember how much I've grown, what God has done through me in a way that only He could do, and that only the death of my baby could have done.  I will remember that my baby changed me, changed my family, changed the world.  I will remember the short time that I was given with him.  And I will be thankful for the things that I do have.

The Website Is Done!

The pregnancy loss website is done!  Come check it out!

http://www.stillbirthday.com

I made this!  (:

Changing the Diaper Relationship

I am writing out my "tricks" for potty training, not because they are super awesome and work perfectly, but because they're....just a little different, they work pretty well for our family, and they're sort of fun.

You should know, that the earlier you start potty training, the longer it is going to take.  You should also know that some steps in our method will take longer than others, and you should not move on to the next step until the one you are on is completed.  We aim for complete (or nearly complete) training sometime near being 3 years old. 

For our family, we begin the method below at about 15 months.  We go slow and steady.  These ideas really may not work for you, and I'm not suggesting they are perfect.  For our family, it has worked very successfully for our first son, and is working very well for our second, who is 20 months old and just began step 6.



Step One
So, I'll start at the beginning.

The first thing I do, before introducing a pull-up, cotton undies, or a talking, singing potty, is...

I change the diaper relationship.

You know...

When mommy changes diapers, she snuggles the baby and places him gently on the changing table.

She stays close, keeping one hand on the baby.

She looks at him a lot, even while grabbing for the clean diaper and wipes.

She coos, smiles, laughs, talks and sings to him. 

He coos, smiles, laughs, talks and sings back to her.

Diaper chaning time is an enjoyable time of bonding.

Why would a baby want to give that up, to sit on a cold, plastic potty?

So, months before I even introduce the potty, I begin to change the diaper relationship:

I talk and coo less.

I get him in, out, and off of the changing table.

Then.....when we are back in a different room, we can snuggle and bond again.

Diaper changing changes to become all about business.

I do this for a few months, and then......


Step Two
I check to see if the little mister stays dry through the night, if he changes his demeanor when he poops especially (grunting, squating) and maybe even when he pees.  I make sure he can follow simple instructions, even if he can't say very many words.  I make sure he has ways of communicating his wants in other areas of our day: can he tell me that he's any of these: thirsty, hungry, bored, finished, full, or tired?  When he can show me at least one of these,

I bring out the toddler potty.

The toddler potty becomes part of our living room furniture.

I want to make it as non-threatening and even fun as possible.

We let the teddy bears, Bat Mat, and Star Wars figurines all use it.


Step Three
We learn the sign language for potty.





Step Four
We test it out.

I have no expectation of him actually even using it.  I just want him to sit on it.

I am changing what was the fun diaper relationship, to a fun potty relationship.

After meals, and after sleep, we snuggle, and then I put him on the potty.

If he resists, I have him stay on long enough to sing the ABC's to him two times.  My plan was, if he was totally terrified or frustrated with it, to let him try while still in his diaper.  Just, sit on it with the diaper on.  We didn't need to do this, but I thought I'd toss that thought in there. 

What usually happens is, he will have toys at hand or a video on, and he'll enjoy staying on the potty.

We block out some time, a weekend or so, to really kick-start this step.  We let him go totally diaper-less for large chunks of time for a few days.  It's going to be messy, but it lets him get to the potty faster.

When I sit him on the potty, I walk him to it, I don't pick him up and carry him to it.

At first, I might tickle his legs or trickle cold water on his legs to see if that helps him relax to use the potty.

When he finishes his time on the potty, even if he didn't use it (he probably won't for the first several times), I cheer for him, so he'll see that potty time is fun (some people introduce prizes and such at this time).

Meanwhile, I let him know when I have to go potty.  Not every time, just enough to get the point for what it's for.  I tell him, and sign to him, that I have to go.

At first, I let him come in too.  It lets him get familiar with the sounds of the big bathroom--mainly the great big flushing sound, which can be scary. 

When we flush, we wave "bye bye" to the dirty water.  This may sound totally weird, but I do this because it lets him know that using the toilet makes our "mess" go away, instead of staying in the diaper.

We wash our hands together.


Step Five
Our efforts for success pick up a notch. 

We put him on the potty after sleep, after meals, and about every hour or so.  At first, we still aren't aiming for success, just familiarity.

We keep him in cotton undies for large chunks of time.  We use the diaper for leaving the house and for sleep.

We keep an eye for signs of pooping: grunting, squating.  Successful poop is our mission.  Pee can still wait, but we still try for it. 

When he shows signs of pooping, we get him to the potty as quickly as possible (it helps keeping it in a central location for this purpose too, in addition to making him feel more comfortable with it). 

If there is poop in the diaper, I gently drop it into the potty.

I only cheer now if he can actually poop while on the potty, but I don't get mad if he doesn't.

When he is finished, we bring the potty over to the big toilet, and flush and say "bye bye" together.

We wash our hands.


Step Six
We continue to sign "potty" before each use.  We make sure that he's learning how to make the sign, and that we can understand his toddler interpretation of the sign (it won't be perfect).

We continue to "try" to potty before and after sleep, after meals, and about every hour or so.

At this point he has pooped in the potty several times, and has peed at least once or twice.

At this point, if we are away from home for long periods of time, I don't bring the potty, but I do bring a toddler seat cover, and invite him to the bathroom at least once.  I have no expectation of him successfully using it, because public bathrooms are frightening.  I just want him to become familiar with different bathrooms and realize they all have the same function.


Step Seven
At this point, we still try to use the potty very frequently, but begin to look for more and more success in both pooping and peeing. 

We still expect mistakes, and when there is one, we tell him, "Uh, oh, you missed the potty!"

We only cheer for success.

We only let him flush if he succeeded without an accident.

We (um, still) wash our hands.


Step Eight
We work on bringing the potty closer to the actual bathroom.

We begin to introduce using the big toilet, in much the same way we introduced the potty: we let Bat Man use it too.

We still use sign language, cheer for success, and let him flush when he succeeds.

We begin to introduce standing for peeing.

We (um, yes, still) wash our hands.

If this totally overwhelms you, there are other tricks you can do.  The Potty Watch is a great idea for parents who have a difficult time keeping track and getting to the potty consistantly.